Zealot
by xxJust Robinxx
Summary: What does it all mean? That I'm currently wearing in excess of ten thousand dollars on my body—which I pay 1500 monthly to a personal trainer to maintain—and couldn't care less...So why do I do it? To hide who I really am, of course. Daily Dribble, written for FemmeCullen aka Stephenie Masen.
1. Chapter 1

I'm baaaack...

So, the updates will be short, but daily. This will be a bit of a departure for me, but then again, what ISN'T these days?

This was written for Stephenie Mase/FemmeCullen. She wanted a rebel... little did she know the can or worms she would open for that little request...

* * *

Part I: Every day

* * *

Saxx black boxer briefs and black socks.

White undershirt, Calvin Klein.

Blue Charvet oxford shirt with striped tie, Windsor knot.

Charcoal gray suit, two-button, Kiton.

Black John Lobbs, polished oxford.

TAG Heuer watch, Monaco series.

What does it all mean? That I'm currently wearing in excess of ten thousand dollars on my body—which I pay $ 1500 monthly to a personal trainer to maintain—and couldn't care less.

It's a costume—

A mask—

A façade—

So why do I do it?

To hide who I really am, of course.

* * *

**Dailies will begin May 1.**

Thanks for reading.

(Should anything go south- It's on the TUmblr as well: zealot-ff . tumblr . com )


	2. Chapter 2

The buzz of the needle is uncomfortable, but not altogether painful. It never lasts long, only fifteen minutes at most, but lately, I've been here more than usual.

Despite my weekly visits—Sam, as I've come to know his name—completed all of my ink-work in the last year.

He never asks questions—

Never makes small talk—

He takes my generous cash payment and never puts me on the books—

So how am I so confident in our unspoken agreement?

Because his life depends on it, of course.


	3. Chapter 3

Her body is absolutely perfect. The skin is tight and smooth, no blemishes or cellulite dimples. Her skin is sun kissed, not overly tanned or pale.

When my hands trace up her thigh, I can see and feel the goose bumps mar the perfection I've just admired. A moan escapes through her lips, and I know it won't be the last sound she makes tonight.

She will whimper—

Groan—

Scream—

So why am I wasting precious time instead of taking what I want?

Because anything worth doing is worth doing right, of course.

* * *

**There is nothing wrong with picture books, so don't miss ~Zealot~ on tumblr! [ ****tinyurl dot com / c9wqxuz **] - _hand to God, FFn gets harder to fool.**  
**_

**But please, review responsibly on FFN. It's how everyone else gauges how awesome you think I am : )**


	4. Chapter 4

I sit across from my client. He's droning on and on about himself, and it's rather unsavory. Doesn't he know he revolves around the sun, not the other way around?

I can almost imagine myself pushing him down a long flight of stairs given the opportunity.

He would trip—

Stumble—

There would be the snap of bones—

So why not just get up and walk away from this loser?

Because people like him are my bread and butter, and the part of me that's All-American, of course.


	5. Chapter 5

I look at myself in the mirror and wonder if I'm really fooling anyone. Yesterday, one of my co-workers wore a bow-tie and suspenders. Many of the ladies in the office complimented him, and I wonder if it's something I should try.

After a few more moments of contemplation, I decide that a kitschy fashion statement isn't right for me.

I'll stand out—

I want to blend in—

Fit in—

So why do I have this longing—need—to assimilate?

Because the ability of a species to survive, particularly when related to behavior through natural selection, is essential, of course.

* * *

REVIEW, because you all forgot on ch 4!

Your theories and comments on Edward are _CRACK_ing me up! You all have such vivid imaginations!

Don't forget to check out the tumblr, each chaplette has a little pic. ( zealot-ff . tumblr . com )

Follow me on FB: JustRobinFF


	6. Chapter 6

As I sit looking at the computer screen, I feel the wave of anxiety—mixed with anger and rage—rise up. It's sitting on my shoulders like a small devil whispering evil deeds in my ear. I've tried looking at pictures of tropical sunsets, kittens and puppies, and even a little mild porn, but nothing will relieve the itch inside my chest.

There's a need to sate my hunger and to find an outlet for the pent-up aggression.

To feel flesh under my fingers—

The warmth—

The wetness—

The satisfaction—

So why not find the nearest available secretary and appease the fiend caged within?

Because that level of enthusiasm is forbidden in the workplace, of course.

* * *

Thank yous go out to:

TwiMarti for her comma copy-edits - she always leaves me comments like "independent clause follows the conjunction" She's so cute.

Stephenie Masen, SoapyMayhem and Smeyerfan on ADF for their recommendations. IF you heard about Zealot somewhere, lemme know :)


	7. Chapter 7

When I walk into my building, I see her unlocking her mailbox. Plain, I tell myself. Chestnut hair, khaki pants, brown shoes. What kind of nurse wears brown scrubs? I didn't even know they made brown scrubs. I linger in the lobby for a moment, trying to decide if I want her to see me. After a few seconds, I decide its best if I'm not noticed.

I make it to the elevator before my cover is blown.

"Edward—"

Caught—

"Bella—"

Awkward—

So why do I put myself in this absurd situation every evening?

Because she's the one line I won't cross in this life, of course.


	8. Chapter 8

I sit at the kitchen table, my laptop tuned to YouPorn. I've scoured the site looking for something I haven't seen yet. Hentai, 3D, monsters, aliens, gangbang, fetish, but nothing holds appeal today. Even the few violent dub-consents that usually get some reaction out of me are useless.

I'm literally watching porn with indifference, nothing getting through.

Not anal—

Not blood play—

Not bondage—

Nothing—

So why do I sit here, continuing to watch something that has me on the edge of vomiting?

Because it's Tuesday, of course.


	9. Chapter 9

Friday finally arrives, and it's the end of the work week. It is also the day of the week I've looked forward to for the last six days. It's time to go out on the hunt, to find what I've been thinking about for the last 144 hours. But it's always bittersweet because it will be over too soon.

The pleas—

The eyes—

The soft skin—

The scent afterward—

So if it brings me so much pleasure, so much life, why restrict myself to only once a week?

Because I don't want to get caught, of course.

* * *

BIG A/N:

I must tell you, I've never laughed as hard as I did reading reviews for ch. 8. Why you ask? Were my readers particularly witty yesterday? Well, not intentionally.

There will come a point in the story where I will reference you all back here, and hopefully you too, will laugh- or cry- or send me anthrax in the mail...but yeah. Hahahahahaahah.


	10. Chapter 10

As I sit in Sam's chair for my standing Saturday afternoon appointment, I think back to the night before. There are flashes, like polaroids; they flip quickly—only a two-second pause, but its long enough for me to relive each moment. Later, when I'm home fingering my newest harsh-mark in the mirror, I replay them all.

Jet-black hair—

The red-heads—

Blondes—

Auburn—

I used to be indiscriminate, but haven't been able to lately. So why not the brunettes, the chestnut blend?

Because I've tried, but always end up letting them go, of course.


	11. Chapter 11

Saturday turns to Sunday, and the rest of the days of the week float by. I get up, get dressed, go to work, and make fake smiles and friendly conversation. I don't care about my secretary's birthday, or the HR rep having a baby. I sign the office card, but decline the slice of cake when it's offered. I drive home only thinking about one thing, the thing that consumes most of my free thought. This week is different, though; a shy smile and coffee-colored tresses invade my typical Friday evening thoughts, but even that is interrupted.

I don't recall exactly how I got there. I was driving in my typical emotionless haze. Suddenly there was screeching of tires, breaking of glass, searing pain.

The flashing red lights—

The sirens—

Double doors and bright lights—

Shouting—

So why aren't I more concerned that I've just been rolled into the emergency room, catching mumblings of "emergency surgery" and "critical"?

Because a chestnut-haired angel is standing above me, touching me, telling me it will all be okay, of course.


	12. Chapter 12

It's been almost two weeks, and I feel the emptiness. I wonder if the hollowness will grow until it becomes overwhelming. I can't very well satisfy my needs while in the hospital. Instead, I visit patients in ICU once I'm able to get up and walk. Seeing how helpless they all are, lying there, unmoving, unfeeling… it grants me some satisfaction. But it's temporary—fleeting. My only saving grace is that she comes to see me every night during her shift.

She fluffs my pillows—

Fills my water pitcher—

Checks my vitals—

So where is the meaning in all of this, and why does this soothe me to some degree?

Because even though she's a nurse in this hospital, she works in triage and not ICU or DOU, so I know she's doing it because she wants to, of course.

* * *

Im off to them farm for a couple days...see you Monday :)


	13. Chapter 13

After a month of rehabilitation, and I'm finally able to regain some of my strength. I'm still not back to full fortitude, and I still have a long way to go, but I think I'm ready to get back out there. I owe most of it to her. Bella's brought me three meals a day, taken care of the mail, cleaned the apartment, and never said a word. She left me a note when she left tonight. It was simple, yet elegant:

_You need to get back out there._

She somehow understands exactly what I need to survive.

My needs—

My wants—

My desires—

So why can't I be civil and thank her for taking care of me, a virtual stranger who's never given her so much as a smile in the lobby?

Because if I let her get too close, she may see **_me_**, of course.


	14. Chapter 14

My first Friday night back—back to my old routine—and it's a mess. I'm not strong enough yet and there is a struggle. The blonde even escapes into the hallway and gets a strangled scream out. I play it off by laughing loudly, hoping a witness would mistake the scuffle for a tickle fight. I get her back inside and get the job done, but I'm so tired that I can't finish cleanup. Unfortunately it will have to wait until morning, But as Saturday dawns, and I return to finish the job...

It's all gone—

She's gone—

The cleanup is done when I open my storage unit in the basement—

So what the hell happened? Did I really kill the blonde last night, or was it all a dream?

_Of course_, I have no idea.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note**: I thought I would post a recap of the last 14 days. (it's pretty long, I know). Reading it together may fill in some holes.

Part II: If you knew what I knew, will begin posting tomorrow night.

Hearts to everyone for their reviews.

* * *

Part I: Every day

1]

Saxx black boxer briefs and black socks.

White undershirt, Calvin Klein.

Blue Charvet oxford shirt with striped tie, Windsor knot.

Charcoal gray suit, two-button, Kiton.

Black John Lobbs, polished oxford.

TAG Heuer watch, Monaco series.

What does it all mean? That I'm currently wearing in excess of ten thousand dollars on my body—which I pay $ 1500 monthly to a personal trainer to maintain—and couldn't care less.

It's a costume—

A mask—

A façade—

So why do I do it?

To hide who I really am, of course.

* * *

2]

The buzz of the needle is uncomfortable, but not altogether painful. It never lasts long, only fifteen minutes at most, but lately, I've been here more than usual.

Despite my weekly visits—Sam, as I've come to know his name—completed all of my ink-work in the last year.

He never asks questions—

Never makes small talk—

He takes my generous cash payment and never puts me on the books—

So how am I so confident in our unspoken agreement?

Because his life depends on it, of course.

* * *

3]

Her body is absolutely perfect. The skin is tight and smooth, no blemishes or cellulite dimples. Her skin is sun kissed, not overly tanned or pale.

When my hands trace up her thigh, I can see and feel the goose bumps mar the perfection I've just admired. A moan escapes through her lips, and I know it won't be the last sound she makes tonight.

She will whimper—

Groan—

Scream—

So why am I wasting precious time instead of taking what I want?

Because anything worth doing is worth doing right, of course.

* * *

4]

I sit across from my client. He's droning on and on about himself, and it's rather unsavory. Doesn't he know he revolves around the sun, not the other way around?

I can almost imagine myself pushing him down a long flight of stairs given the opportunity.

He would trip—

Stumble—

There would be the snap of bones—

So why not just get up and walk away from this loser?

Because people like him are my bread and butter, and the part of me that's All-American, of course.

* * *

5]

I look at myself in the mirror and wonder if I'm really fooling anyone. Yesterday, one of my co-workers wore a bow-tie and suspenders. Many of the ladies in the office complimented him, and I wonder if it's something I should try.

After a few more moments of contemplation, I decide that a kitschy fashion statement isn't right for me.

I'll stand out—

I want to blend in—

Fit in—

So why do I have this longing—need—to assimilate?

Because the ability of a species to survive, particularly when related to behavior through natural selection, is essential, of course.

* * *

6]

As I sit looking at the computer screen, I feel the wave of anxiety—mixed with anger and rage—rise up. It's sitting on my shoulders like a small devil whispering evil deeds in my ear. I've tried looking at pictures of tropical sunsets, kittens and puppies, and even a little mild porn, but nothing will relieve the itch inside my chest.

There's a need to sate my hunger and to find an outlet for the pent-up aggression.

To feel flesh under my fingers—

The warmth—

The wetness—

The satisfaction—

So why not find the nearest available secretary and appease the fiend caged within?

Because that level of enthusiasm is forbidden in the workplace, of course.

* * *

7]

When I walk into my building, I see her unlocking her mailbox. Plain, I tell myself. Chestnut hair, khaki pants, brown shoes. What kind of nurse wears brown scrubs? I didn't even know they made brown scrubs. I linger in the lobby for a moment, trying to decide if I want her to see me. After a few seconds, I decide its best if I'm not noticed.

I make it to the elevator before my cover is blown.

"Edward—"

Caught—

"Bella—"

Awkward—

So why do I put myself in this absurd situation every evening?

Because she's the one line I won't cross in this life, of course.

* * *

8]

I sit at the kitchen table, my laptop tuned to YouPorn. I've scoured the site looking for something I haven't seen yet. Hentai, 3D, monsters, aliens, gangbang, fetish, but nothing holds appeal today. Even the few violent dub-consents that usually get some reaction out of me are useless.

I'm literally watching porn with indifference, nothing getting through.

Not anal—

Not blood play—

Not bondage—

Nothing—

So why do I sit here, continuing to watch something that has me on the edge of vomiting?

Because it's Tuesday, of course.

* * *

9]

Friday finally arrives, and it's the end of the work week. It is also the day of the week I've looked forward to for the last six days. It's time to go out on the hunt, to find what I've been thinking about for the last 144 hours. But it's always bittersweet because it will be over too soon.

The pleas—

The eyes—

The soft skin—

The scent afterward—

So if it brings me so much pleasure, so much life, why restrict myself to only once a week?

Because I don't want to get caught, of course.

* * *

10]

As I sit in Sam's chair for my standing Saturday afternoon appointment, I think back to the night before. There are flashes, like polaroids; they flip quickly—only a two-second pause, but its long enough for me to relive each moment. Later, when I'm home fingering my newest harsh-mark in the mirror, I replay them all.

Jet-black hair—

The red-heads—

Blondes—

Auburn—

I used to be indiscriminate, but haven't been able to lately. So why not the brunettes, the chestnut blend?

Because I've tried, but always end up letting them go, of course.

* * *

11]

Saturday turns to Sunday, and the rest of the days of the week float by. I get up, get dressed, go to work, and make fake smiles and friendly conversation. I don't care about my secretary's birthday, or the HR rep having a baby. I sign the office card, but decline the slice of cake when it's offered. I drive home only thinking about one thing, the thing that consumes most of my free thought. This week is different, though; a shy smile and coffee-colored tresses invade my typical Friday evening thoughts, but even that is interrupted.

I don't recall exactly how I got there. I was driving in my typical emotionless haze. Suddenly there was screeching of tires, breaking of glass, searing pain.

The flashing red lights—

The sirens—

Double doors and bright lights—

Shouting—

So why aren't I more concerned that I've just been rolled into the emergency room, catching mumblings of "emergency surgery" and "critical"?

Because a chestnut-haired angel is standing above me, touching me, telling me it will all be okay, of course.

* * *

12]

It's been almost two weeks, and I feel the emptiness. I wonder if the hollowness will grow until it becomes overwhelming. I can't very well satisfy my needs while in the hospital. Instead, I visit patients in ICU once I'm able to get up and walk. Seeing how helpless they all are, lying there, unmoving, unfeeling… it grants me some satisfaction. But it's temporary—fleeting. My only saving grace is that she comes to see me every night during her shift.

She fluffs my pillows—

Fills my water pitcher—

Checks my vitals—

So where is the meaning in all of this, and why does this soothe me to some degree?

Because even though she's a nurse in this hospital, she works in triage and not ICU or DOU, so I know she's doing it because she wants to, of course.

* * *

13]

After a month of rehabilitation, and I'm finally able to regain some of my strength. I'm still not back to full fortitude, and I still have a long way to go, but I think I'm ready to get back out there. I owe most of it to her. Bella's brought me three meals a day, taken care of the mail, cleaned the apartment, and never said a word. She left me a note when she left tonight. It was simple, yet elegant:

You need to get back out there.

She somehow understands exactly what I need to survive.

My needs—

My wants—

My desires—

So why can't I be civil and thank her for taking care of me, a virtual stranger who's never given her so much as a smile in the lobby?

Because if I let her get too close, she may see me, of course.

* * *

14]

My first Friday night back—back to my old routine—and it's a mess. I'm not strong enough yet and there is a struggle. The blonde even escapes into the hallway and gets a strangled scream out. I play it off by laughing loudly, hoping a witness would mistake the scuffle for a tickle fight. I get her back inside and get the job done, but I'm so tired that I can't finish cleanup. Unfortunately it will have to wait until morning.

But as Saturday dawns, and I return to finish the job...

It's all gone—

She's gone—

The cleanup is done when I open my storage unit in the basement—

So what the hell happened? Did I really kill the blonde last night, or was it all a dream?

Of course, I have no idea.


	16. Chapter 16

Part II: If you knew what I knew

* * *

I've heard the screaming, the thumping, their shrieks beseeching.

Initially I thought perhaps he was a voracious lover, but there was something about the cries that bled through the walls...their sound pleading, not wanton; but who was I to judge? Perhaps he was exceptionally good at the task, or possibly just that bad.

My sexual experiences are considered vanilla at best. The way I would look at the ceiling as my one-time boyfriend, James, would shove himself inside me, grunting and sweating, accompanied with the overuse of curses.

I honestly never saw the allure or excitement everyone was talking about in terms of intercourse. Instead, I would wish it was over as soon as possible so I could excuse myself to the living room and watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer as a means to forget.

I'd even gone so far as to learn, what my female peers referred to as sexual prowess, to hurry things along in the bedroom. I strengthened my kegel muscles to grip the unyielding cock inside of me, driving him to his peak quicker. I'd also undress and prance provocatively in front of James so that he would be so wound, he would come faster than a teenager after discovering nipples.

Would I ever find what I so desperately needed?


	17. Chapter 17

One would wonder why I ever had a boyfriend, but the answer is simple: it's what women are supposed to do, what they're supposed to have, supposed to be. You date, get married, settle down, have babies. But none of the above holds appeal to me. At least not in the traditional sense.

Perhaps I'm broken.

After an incident in the staff elevator at the hospital, I'd taken to dressing as drab and plain as possible. A nursing student named Tyler had told me how "hot" I looked in my pink scrubs, then proceeded to grab at my breasts and ass. He rambled things like, "you know you want it," and "your tits are so fucking awesome," as he continued to molest. Luckily, a custodian interrupted his groping, and I asked to switch departments.

I'd been a surgical nurse, but requested transfer to emergency and triage when a spot opened up. It relieved me of Tyler and opened my eyes to something that had been missing from my life.

Would holding people's lives, literally in my hands, quell the emptiness that was growing inside me?


	18. Chapter 18

I'm not frigid; I have many desires buried so deep that I'm ashamed to share them with anyone. While the media has become more comfortable with alternative sexual lifestyles such as dominance and submission (and the occasional ass-beating in the bedroom), what I want—yearn for—still seems taboo. I often wonder what's wrong with me that I've developed maladaptive sexual preferences. My parents hugged me. I wasn't spanked, starved, or neglected.

But I've long given up on finding someone who will truly satisfy my desires and make me come with the ferocity I've heard next door every Friday night for the last year.

Would I ever know the satisfaction all those other women know?


	19. Chapter 19

At night, I lay awake and imagine what he is doing with them... to them. I visualize his strong hands around my throat, his hand grasping a nylon rope, commanding me to be still while he works me over, threatening to slice my throat open if I move.

It's not role play of dubious consent, though, no.

We are willing partners. I want him to inflict pain, and he wants to wield the instrument of suffering; the sharp blade that slices my skin, spilling droplets of crimson. He would smear my liquid of life on his lips and then kiss me. We would share blood like wine as we reach our mutual sexual peaks. The screams would be silent, but strong and breathless. He would never fail to satisfy me.

Would it—him—ever be more than just a dream?


	20. Chapter 20

The thump this particular Saturday morning wakes me suddenly. There's always some scuffle around three in the morning after Edward's typical Friday night activity. I'd generally assumed it was the whores leaving after they were fulfilled. But this morning, it was a thud, an unresponsive clunk. I know this isn't some shameless bitch making her post-coital getaway. There's a scream, and I know it's not glee.

My apartment is at the end of the hall and gives me a perfect glance to the entire hallway through the peep hole. I squint to see the action in the corridor, and Edward comes into view. As I watch him with her, it all becomes clear to me.

Would I ever be able to tell him that I know his secret?


	21. Chapter 21

When the alarm sounds, I know the incoming ambulance will bring a critical. The EMTs burst through the doors only moments later, wheeling a white male, approximately 25-35 years of age. Car accident, blood loss, multiple injuries. I see the smears of red and my training kicks in, the adrenaline taking over. I always get this surge of excitement, knowing that a person's life hangs in the balance. This could go either way, really. Will they pull through after hours of touch and go? Or will their perilous soul end with a long, tired beep and a monotone confirmation of another life—expired.

But it only takes ten seconds, and then I look down and realize this is more than an emergency triage.

This is a matter of existence… I know that death cannot be an option as I look into the unresponsive eyes of none other than Edward Cullen. I know this time is different than all the rest; there is no excitement for me, no satisfaction as I hold this divine creature in my hands.

Will I ever be able to forgive myself if something happens to the man lying below me on the gurney bleeding to death?


	22. Chapter 22

I know he is miserable because I can see it in his eyes. I'm not sure what else to do, so I sneak up to his floor during my breaks, come in early, stay late. I check his vitals, smooth his hair off his forehead, and make sure his wounds are clean and freshly dressed.

I wish I could hunt for him, bring them here so he would heal faster and come home sooner. At first, he doesn't realize I've been here all along as he's in and out of consciousness, but soon enough he begins to regain his strength and our dance begins. We never speak, but I know he appreciates the effort and care I'm providing for him.

Will this ever be more than a silent shuffle of feet? Or will we gambol, descending into careless rapture, finally succumbing to the fact that we are made for each other?

* * *

**A/N: Just a short shout to let you all know that I'm loving all the reviews; so many questions and theories!**

**My hope, when I wrote this, was not to overlap the POV's too much. There are a few instances where things overlap, but it was to give differentiating view points.**

**I'm going to finish up Bella's POV with ch 29, then we'll move on to part III! Those posts are a little longer (around 500 words as opposed to the 100-150 here), so those will post Tuesday, Thursday, Friday. {=== Yes, those days are absolutely arbitrary.**


	23. Chapter 23

Edward never asks how or why I have keys to his apartment. He is simply relieved, or so it seems, that I'm there. We still haven't had a conversation, but there are thank yous, head nods, and even the occasional smile when I bake him a dessert.

The first week after Edward comes home from the hospital, I simply leave after delivering his meals. It's the second week that he finally speaks, giving me glib praise. It's surprising and uncharacteristic of the Edward I know.

By the third week, we've developed a routine and I thought I knew what to expect from Edward, but he's surprised me yet again. Today, he grabbed my hand as I started to leave, and the one word he utters is more meaningful that a thousand words:

"Stay."

Without a word, I stow my bag and resume my perch on the couch.

Would the ease I feel when I'm with Edward last forever, or will he realize his mistake in getting too close?


	24. Chapter 24

I can't deny that he's unhappy. Even though I've met most of his basic needs, I also know that there is something missing I can't fulfill for him. I debate all day, watching him lumber around the apartment, wondering whether I should finally overstep my bounds and give him permission he doesn't really require. When he looks at me across the table at dinner time every evening, it's as though he's asking for my consent.

While I know Edward isn't aware that I know his secret, his eyes beseech... he wants me to know, he wants me to see—and tonight, when I leave him—I will give him the approval he so desperately seeks.

My hand shakes as I attempt to write the words. You need to get back out there. It's not that I'm nervous about sending him back out there, no. It's that I want to be at his side as he collects the chosen one. I want him to look into my eyes and ask if she's the one and if he's chosen well.

But I know that is not the position I will hold in his life, at least not now.

Will he ever trust me enough to be his devoted servant and confidant?


	25. Chapter 25

I'm satisfied when I hear the voices in the hall and the click of the deadbolt next door. A surge of pride rises up as I imagine Edward's smile. I know he's waited so long to resume the hunt, and the tell-tale signs from next door tell me he's completed the first half of his mission. But shortly, I hear a scream in the hallway, followed by a chuckle from him. When he smiles, it's tempered and forced; he doesn't mean it. However, I've never heard him laugh, and I don't like that he's laughed for someone else. If there is to be soulless joy, it should be with me...not one of them.

I've been by his side for weeks now, giving him what he needs. I'm the one who made sure he was safe when he was weak and encouraged him to hunt again when he was able.

But is this my repayment? Has he changed in while recovering from the accident? Will he find someone else to be his companion?

Will he give his body over to one of them instead?


	26. Chapter 26

I look out the peephole and notice that his laugh not filled with mirth, and my anger fades quickly as I watch him struggle in the hall, sensing he's tired. She overpowers him easily and even gets a fair distance away from him, but my Edward doesn't let her get too far. She doesn't reach the stairwell before he's able to grab a fistful of hair and yank her back. I'm cheering on the inside as I see him take back what belongs to him.

He's breathing heavy, and I know this is hard for him. He's out of practice and he's made mistakes. However, I have faith that he will get back to the magnificent specimen I've grown to love.

He's whispered in her ear, and she suddenly goes silent. There is no more struggle and while she doesn't go back to his apartment willingly, she doesn't fight him either. Only minutes later, I hear his door open again. After a few moments, I open my own door and follow at a safe distance. He's carrying her like a father carries a sleeping child to bed. As we reach storage, I expect to see him lock himself away to finish, but he doesn't. Instead, he backs out quickly, obviously exhausted by all the mistakes. I tuck myself behind the stairwell and wait for him to make the laborious climb back to his apartment. I know he's suffering, and I need to ease his burden.

Will this be my chance to show him my devotion? That I can be everything he needs?

* * *

**AN:**

Here's the holiday schedule-

No update Sunday/Monday. Glad I'm not that asshole that leaves you on a cliff for 2 days... ?


	27. Chapter 27

Separating and then cutting up the pieces is easier than I thought it would be. Edward unknowingly made this easy for me. Since he was under such duress, he's not only left the job to finish for later, but he also left the door to his storage room unlocked. For the first few moments after I stepped inside, I was like a kid in a candy store. He has everything here to complete the task. His tools and instruments are on display, clean and gleaming under the florescent light from above.

As I work, I realize that the satisfaction I feel isn't just about the actual task at hand. I have a deep-rooted satisfaction at realizing that I'm able to care for Edward in more than one way. I can be his friend, his care-giver, and his slave, capable of doing his bidding while willingly submitting to his every desire.

While most of Edward's needs have become clear, there's still one I'm unsure about.

Will Edward ever need me to fulfill his most basic desire? Will I become his mind, soul and body?

* * *

VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION:

Do you want a recap of just part II or of I & II? Or none at all?

Easiest review of your life... you could even copy/paste your answer!


	28. Chapter 29

I've let myself in to check on him, but he's already gone. I suspected he'd still be sound asleep. Because he left the job incomplete the previous night and I've grown to know what a perfectionist his is, I should know his mistakes will haunt him for some time, and he'd be anxious to finish things this morning.

A smile plays across my face as I flip the last slice of french toast, knowing he will need the extra carbohydrates today. The fried eggs are almost done, and the bacon crisp but not burnt.

"Bella?"

He's surprised I'm here since we haven't spoken since Thursday. I turn, spatula in hand, ready to offer up more than just his breakfast.

Will he think I've done a good job, and more importantly, will he be proud of me?


	29. Ch 29

"Good morning." I usher him to the table and set his plate in front of him. I can tell he's confused and not quite sure of what's happened this morning.

"I take it you discovered my surprise for you? I wanted to take you down and show you myself, but apparently, you couldn't wait! You really should have gotten some more rest; you need your strength." He's just staring at me, his mouth gaping like a big-mouth bass. I know it's probably a shock since these are the most words I've ever uttered in his presence. I hope he's not upset with my sudden candor.

"Eat, Edward."

While I've closely examined our relationship up to this point, I'm no longer filled with questions. At this moment, I'm filled with answers. I know, as Edward digs into his breakfast without so much as an argumentative raise of his eyebrow, that this is exactly how it's meant to be.

* * *

Alrighty, you 'sick' fucks! Well, I've herded you this far (baaaaaahhhhh).

{if you're a little confused, check out a recent review for ch 28, you'll know when you see it. And it's worth the extra effort and lulz.}

im gonna post the part 2recap tomorrow, as well as the beginning of part III . The vote was split, so for those who don't want to recap can skip forward :)

thanks to everyone for taking a chance. You know the plot at this point, and I'm sure I've lost a few Twi-zealots, but that's ok. Sometimes is all about the path you take, rather than where you started or stopped.

Xo,

Jr


	30. Chapter 30

Part 1 recap is ch 15- you can manage the 2 maneuver click...

if you don't want the recap, then just skip to the next part- it's right }} there.

* * *

Part II (recap): If you knew what I knew

16]  
I've heard the screaming, the thumping, their shrieks beseeching.  
Initially I thought perhaps he was a voracious lover, but there was something about the cries that bled through the walls...their sound pleading, not wanton; but who was I to judge? Perhaps he was exceptionally good at the task, or possibly just that bad.  
My sexual experiences are considered vanilla at best. The way I would look at the ceiling as my one-time boyfriend, James, would shove himself inside me, grunting and sweating, accompanied with the overuse of curses.  
I honestly never saw the allure or excitement everyone was talking about in terms of intercourse. Instead, I would wish it was over as soon as possible so I could excuse myself to the living room and watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer as a means to forget.  
I'd even gone so far as to learn, what my female peers referred to as sexual prowess, to hurry things along in the bedroom. I strengthened my kegel muscles to grip the unyielding cock inside of me, driving him to his peak quicker. I'd also undress and prance provocatively in front of James so that he would be so wound, he would come faster than a teenager after discovering nipples.  
Would I ever find what I so desperately needed?

17] Part II  
One would wonder why I ever had a boyfriend, but the answer is simple: it's what women are supposed to do, what they're supposed to have, supposed to be. You date, get married, settle down, have babies. But none of the above holds appeal to me. At least not in the traditional sense.  
Perhaps I'm broken.  
After an incident in the staff elevator at the hospital, I'd taken to dressing as drab and plain as possible. A nursing student named Tyler had told me how "hot" I looked in my pink scrubs, then proceeded to grab at my breasts and ass. He rambled things like, "you know you want it," and "your tits are so fucking awesome," as he continued to molest. Luckily, a custodian interrupted his groping, and I asked to switch departments.  
I'd been a surgical nurse, but requested transfer to emergency and triage when a spot opened up. It relieved me of Tyler and opened my eyes to something that had been missing from my life.  
Would holding people's live, literally in my hands, quell the emptiness that was growing inside me?

18] Part II  
I'm not frigid; I have many desires buried so deep that I'm ashamed to share them with anyone. While the media has become more comfortable with alternative sexual lifestyles such as dominance and submission (and the occasional ass-beating in the bedroom), what I want—yearn for—still seems taboo. I often wonder what's wrong with me that I've developed maladaptive sexual preferences. My parents hugged me. I wasn't spanked, starved, or neglected.  
But I've long given up on finding someone who will truly satisfy my desires and make me come with the ferocity I've heard next door every Friday night for the last year.  
Would I ever know the satisfaction all those other women know?

19] Part II  
At night, I lay awake and imagine what he is doing with them... to them. I visualize his strong hands around my throat, his hand grasping a nylon rope, commanding me to be still while he works me over, threatening to slice my throat open if I move.  
It's not role play of dubious consent, though, no.  
We are willing partners. I want him to inflict pain, and he wants to wield the instrument suffering; the sharp blade that slices my skin, spilling droplets of crimson. He would smear my liquid of life on his lips and then kiss me. We would share blood like wine as we reach our mutual sexual peaks. The screams would be silent, but strong and breathless. He would never fail to satisfy me.  
Would it—him—ever be more than just a dream?

20] Part II  
The thump this particular Saturday morning wakes me suddenly. There's always some scuffle around three in the morning after Edward's typical Friday night activity. I'd generally assumed it was the whores leaving after they were fulfilled. But this morning, it was a thud, an unresponsive clunk. I know this isn't some shameless bitch making her post-coital getaway. There's a scream, and I know it's not glee.  
My apartment is at the end of the hall and gives me a perfect glance to the entire hallway through the peep hole. I squint to see the action in the corridor, and Edward comes into view. As I watch him with her, it all becomes clear to me.  
Would I ever be able to tell him that I know his secret?

21] Part II  
When the alarm sounds, I know the incoming ambulance will bring a critical. The EMTs burst through the doors only moments later, wheeling a white male, approximately 25-35 years of age. Car accident, blood loss, multiple injuries. I see the smears of red and my training kicks in, the adrenaline taking over. I always get this surge of excitement, knowing that a person's life hangs in the balance. This could go either way, really. Will they pull through after hours of touch and go? Or will their perilous soul end with a long, tired beep and a monotone confirmation of another life—expired.  
But it only takes ten seconds, and then I look down and realize this is more than an emergency triage.  
This is a matter of existence… I know that death cannot be an option as I look into the unresponsive eyes of none other than Edward Cullen. I know this time is different than all the rest; there is no excitement for me, no satisfaction as I hold this divine creature in my hands.  
Will I ever be able to forgive myself if something happens to the man lying below me on the gurney bleeding to death?

22] Part II  
I know he is miserable because I can see it in his eyes. I'm not sure what else to do, so I sneak up to his floor during my breaks, come in early, stay late. I check his vitals, smooth his hair off his forehead, and make sure his wounds are clean and freshly dressed.  
I wish I could hunt for him, bring them here so he would heal faster and come home sooner. At first, he doesn't realize I've been here all along as he's in and out of consciousness, but soon enough he begins to regain his strength and our dance begins. We never speak, but I know he appreciates the effort and care I'm providing for him.  
Will this ever be more than a silent shuffle of feet? Or will we gambol, descending into careless rapture, finally succumbing to the fact that we are made for each other?

23] Part II  
Edward never asks how or why I have keys to his apartment. He is simply relieved, or so it seems, that I'm there. We still haven't had a conversation, but there are thank yous, head nods, and even the occasional smile when I bake him a dessert.  
The first week after Edward comes home from the hospital, I simply leave after delivering his meals. It's the second week that he finally speaks, giving me glib praise. It's surprising and uncharacteristic of the Edward I know.  
By the third week, we've developed a routine and I thought I knew what to expect from Edward, but he's surprised me yet again. Today, he grabbed my hand as I started to leave, and the one word he utters is more meaningful that a thousand words:  
"Stay."  
Without a word, I stow my bag and resume my perch on the couch.  
Would the ease I feel when I'm with Edward last forever, or will he realize his mistake in getting too close?

24] Part II  
I can't deny that he's unhappy. Even though I've met most of his basic needs, I also know that there is something missing I can't fulfill for him. I debate all day, watching him lumber around the apartment, wondering whether I should finally overstep my bounds and give him permission he doesn't really require. When he looks at me across the table at dinner time every evening, it's as though he's asking for my consent.  
While I know Edward isn't aware that I know his secret, his eyes beseech... he wants me to know, he wants me to see—and tonight, when I leave him—I will give him the approval he so desperately seeks.  
My hand shakes as I attempt to write the words. You need to get back out there. It's not that I'm nervous about sending him to hunt, no. It's that I want to be at his side as he collects the chosen one. I want him to look into my eyes and ask if she's the one and if he's chosen well.  
But I know that is not the position I will hold in his life, at least not now.  
Will he ever trust me enough to be his devoted servant and confidant?

25] Part II  
I'm satisfied when I hear the voices in the hall and the click of the deadbolt next door. A surge of pride rises up as I imagine Edward's smile. I know he's waited so long to resume the hunt, and the tell-tale signs from next door tell me he's completed the first half of his mission. But shortly, I hear a scream in the hallway, followed by a chuckle from him. When he smiles, it's tempered and forced; he doesn't mean it. However, I've never heard him laugh, and I don't like that he's laughed for someone else. If there is to be soulless joy, it should be with me...not one of them.  
I've been by his side for weeks now, giving him what he needs. I'm the one who made sure he was safe when he was weak and encouraged him to hunt again when he was able.  
But is this my repayment? Has he changed while recovering from the accident? Will he find someone else to be his companion?  
Will he give his body over to one of them instead?-  
26] Part II  
I look out the peephole and notice that his laugh not filled with mirth, and my anger fades quickly as I watch him struggle in the hall, sensing he's tired. She overpowers him easily and even gets a fair distance away from him, but my Edward doesn't let her get too far. She doesn't reach the stairwell before he's able to grab a fistful of hair and yank her back. I'm cheering on the inside as I see him take back what belongs to him.  
He's breathing heavy, and I know this is hard for him. He's out of practice and he's made mistakes. However, I have faith that he will get back to the magnificent specimen I've grown to love.  
He's whispered in her ear, and she suddenly goes silent. There is no more struggle and while she doesn't go back to his apartment willingly, she doesn't fight him either. Only minutes later, I hear his door open again. After a few moments, I open my own door and follow at a safe distance. He's carrying her like a father carries a sleeping child to bed. As we reach storage, I expect to see him lock himself away to finish, but he doesn't. Instead, he backs out quickly, obviously exhausted by all the mistakes. I tuck myself behind the stairwell and wait for him to make the laborious climb back to his apartment. I know he's suffering, and I need to ease his burden.  
Will this be my chance to show him my devotion? That I can be everything he needs?-  
27] Part II  
Separating and then cutting up the pieces is easier than I thought it would be. Edward unknowingly made this easy for me. Since he was under such duress, he's not only left the job to finish for later, but he also left the door to his storage room unlocked. For the first few moments after I stepped inside, I was like a kid in a candy store. He has everything here to complete the task. His tools and instruments are on display, clean and gleaming under the florescent light from above.  
As I work, I realize that the satisfaction I feel isn't just about the actual task at hand. I have a deep-rooted satisfaction at realizing that I'm able to care for Edward in more than one way. I can be his friend, his care-giver, and his slave, capable of doing his bidding while willingly submitting to his every desire.  
While most of Edward's needs have become clear, there's still one I'm unsure about.  
Will Edward ever need me to fulfill his most basic desire? Will I become his mind, soul and body?

28] Part II  
I've let myself in to check on him, but he's already gone. I suspected he'd still be sound asleep. Because he left the job incomplete the previous night and I've grown to know what a perfectionist his is, I should know his mistakes will haunt him for some time, and he'd be anxious to finish things this morning.  
A smile plays across my face as I flip the last slice of french toast, knowing he will need the extra carbohydrates today. The fried eggs are almost done, and the bacon crisp but not burnt.  
"Bella?"  
He's surprised I'm here since we haven't spoken since Thursday. I turn, spatula in hand, ready to offer up more than just his breakfast.  
Will he think I've done a good job, and more importantly, will he be proud of me?

29] Part II  
"Good morning." I usher him to the table and set his plate in front of him. I can tell he's confused and not quite sure of what's happened this morning.  
"I take it you discovered my surprise for you? I wanted to take you down and show you myself, but apparently, you couldn't wait! You really should have gotten some more rest; you need your strength." He's just staring at me, his mouth gaping like a big-mouth bass. I know it's probably a shock since these are the most words I've ever uttered in his presence. I hope he's not upset with my sudden candor.  
"Eat, Edward."  
While I've closely examined our relationship up to this point, I'm no longer filled with questions. At this moment, I'm filled with answers. I know, as Edward digs into his breakfast without so much as an argumentative raise of his eyebrow, that this is exactly how it's meant to be.


	31. Part III: mystery solved

**Part III: Mystery Solved**

Bella hadn't even realized she'd taken control of the situation. "Eat, Edward," she commanded, but then offered praise, "you need to regain your strength." She wanted to tell him there was no need for another mistake like the one from the previous evening, but instead she offered a smile, encouraging him to finish his breakfast.

Edward, though, sat somewhat flustered and completely dumbfounded. Other than his mother, no woman ever spoke to him in such a way. He was the master and commander of his domain—at least he used to be.

Sensing his discomfort, Bella checked herself and attempted to ease him. "Edward, I don't mean to shepherd you. That's not my intent. However, I know you've struggled the last few weeks, and I need for you to get well. You won't be happy until you are once again able to perfectly execute their deaths."

He mentally agreed that truer words had never been spoken. "You know." Edward made the statement after choking down a bite of bacon. He'd worked so hard to keep this from her. She was the one he didn't want to know his secret, but how could it be? She was sitting in front of him, encouraging him...and it certainly didn't make any sense.

"It's obvious this is all very overwhelming for you, so I'm going to clean up while you finish eating. We can talk more over a nice dinner?" Bella could see Edward was uncomfortable and needed some time to turn things over in his mind. She also sensed that he was feeling out of control, and uneasiness radiating from him. She didn't want to take what little semblance of esteem he currently held, so made her exit silent.

After several minutes and a few more clinks of the fork against the china, Edward entered the kitchen with his empty plate, offering it to Bella. She took it with grace and scrubbed it, just like the other dirty dishes.

"I don't understand. I kill them, Bella. I capture them, strangle them, and then cut their bodies into small, portable pieces. How can you wash my dishes?" Edward was back to absurd, but absurd didn't seem to adequately describe the situation either. To an outsider, this was absolute insanity and both of them knew it.

"You assume that I would not love you for who you truly are, Edward. You can't change what or who you are, and you naturally believe I can't love you for this." Bella breathed deep before leaving Edward with her parting thoughts. "You know what they say about the word assume..."


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's note** (I don't do them often, you can grin and bear it):

I must say, "Grossed Out" has many of you worked up, and rightfully so, because Anon has attacked my readers, not me. But one thing is clear as a result... so many of you really get what is going on here. I will take that over 50,000 reviews and 100,000 follows any day of the week. Gems, you all are gems.

* * *

As he buttoned and then tucked his shirt into his pants, the revelation hit him—

He hadn't killed the blonde and therefore had no need for Sam, but Bella...had. She deserved the mark, and Edward wanted to show her how grateful he was for her complete and unconditional devotion. Not to mention she'd covered his ass, possibly preventing a catastrophic aftermath for his careless effort; he wasn't immune to his own incompetence.

He found himself in the hallway and knocking on her door several hours before their agreed-upon dinner time and wondered if he might catch her off guard and partially dressed. He'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't wondered what she looked like under those unflattering scrubs.

"Edward? Is everything all right?" She was surprised to see him, but Edward could tell she was pleased rather than disappointed—after he reassured her everything was fine.

"I've been thinking. You know my marks?" He touched his side where his tattoos were housed as he spoke.

"Yes, a mark for each of them," Bella stated, and then looked to floor as though she'd just revealed the location of the Holy Grail.

"No, no shame, Bella. You astound me in ways I've never been amazed before. I feel," he paused knowing he was about to open himself up—a gaping hole like the Grand Canyon. " I feel rage, anger, relief, and satisfaction when I kill them. But I've never felt affection, concern, desire, sympathy, sorrow, or passion...until you came into my world." Her head snapped up and looked Edward square in the eyes. She'd once hoped—dreamed—that he would feel the same way she felt, but never thought it would be a reality. He could see her disbelief, and he didn't care for it.

"Come with me," Edward began. "That blonde? Her mark belongs to you. It's time for you to meet Sam, Bella.


	33. Chapter 33

"Your first tattoo, Miss?" Mr. Cullen bringing a woman with him had been a surprise, and Sam forgot himself for a moment. The words had been out of his mouth before he remembered that Mr. Cullen didn't care for chit-chat.

"None of your concern, Sam. I'm paying you to mark her skin, not make small talk. Remember yourself." Sam wasn't surprised at the way Mr. Cullen had responded—he would have been shocked if he hadn't reacted as such—but he realized he'd overstepped his boundaries for sure. A mistake he told himself he wouldn't make twice. Sam wasn't wary of much life had to offer, but frankly, Mr. Cullen scared the shit out of him.

As he worked on the young brunette, it hadn't escaped his notice that Mr. Cullen had been absent for several weeks, then came in with a woman to receive his customary hash mark. He felt like he was down the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland, but the pay was the same, and so would be his silence.

While Edward's harsh words put Sam in his place, they lit a fire inside Bella. It was a domineering tone that was absent for the last month, and the way he'd commanded Sam made her cheeks flame. Edward noticed. "Later," he'd said to her with a sneer, unconcerned with their audience. Bella just hoped he'd deliver on his word; later indeed.

"So what do you think?"

"I think I'm still in shock that you let me have the mark, Edward." Of course he'd let her wear the mark. It was her kill after all, but he realized he hadn't really explained himself. He took for granted that Bella would understand his intent with the tattoo, but he'd failed to make sure she understood.

"Bella? Do you understand what this means?" he asked as he carefully ran his finger over the fresh ink. She wanted to respond that she wanted it to mean that they were a team, that he wanted her to join him, be with him, and love him. Instead, she gave her head a slight shake.

"It means that you are part of me now. I know you understand that I cannot share this with just anyone, and I tried to keep this from you. I would see you every evening in the lobby as you retrieved your mail. It wasn't by accident; it's not a coincidence that we happen to get our mail at the same time each day."

Bella's hand came to rest atop Edward's before she spoke. "I don't actually get any mail. All of my bills are electronic. Did you not notice I never pulled anything from my box?" It was Edward's turn to give a shy smile.

"How does Italian sound?" Edward asked, wanting to relieve the tension that had built in the car.

"Sounds perfect."


	34. Chapter 34

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Edward, stop asking me that. I told you I wanted to do this. I need to experience this with you."

For his part, Edward felt like he was taking Bella's virginity. He wasn't sure how she was going to respond to the process, but if the past week had been any indication, everything would be fine. Bella would be fine…good, even. She'd been a star—an optimistic, brilliantly shining—star.

"What about her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Bella, don't question." He was proud of her, but her interrogative queries were wearing on his patience.

While his authoritative tone sent heat straight to her lady parts, Bella wanted to know the issue. There were a few times when she'd make a suggestion toward a particular female, and his reaction would be a quick and visceral "no."

"I'll take my punishment later," Bella began with a smile on her lips and glint in her eye, knowing it upset Edward when she argued. "But I want to know what's wrong with her. I can't learn what you want if you don't tell me why a particular choice is bad!" She blew a strand of hair out of her face with a huff, disgusted with his lack of understanding.

Edward felt he'd given so much, so it was frustrating that Bella seemed like she wouldn't be happy until he'd divulged every last nook and cranny of himself. At first, it was small things like suggesting a different brand of bleach; "let's get the one that smells like lemon and mountain breeze." Then it was criticism of the brand of gloves he used. "Edward, you should really use Nitrile powder free gloves…" But she'd nearly crossed a line in the sand when she suggested a new brand of butcher knife. "Ohhh, look at this one," she'd said as she turned her laptop screen toward Edward, showcasing a page full of cutlery. It was hard for him to bite his tongue; he'd managed for years without Bella, now it seemed all she wanted to do was change him.

"Are you trying to make me angry, Bella?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I like it when you're angry. I want it, Edward. We've been doing this…normal dating dance for the last couple of weeks. And while I do enjoy some of our Norman Rockwell moments, I also fell in love with you. I want you."

"Be careful what you wish for, little girl."


	35. Chapter 35

Edward had seen enough porn is his time to know how to please a woman, and he hadn't heard any complaints from the women he'd been with. Granted, he killed most of them after he fucked them, but their immediate reaction before strangling them always appeared to be satisfaction.

Bella had given him permission to touch her, but he was unsure what would turn her on. In porn, all you needed was a big dick and a lame come on, but a real woman wanted romance and empty chatter as well. He'd had to feign feelings a few times to get a woman into bed, and he didn't care for the time commitment. Bella was different, though she seemed to like antagonizing him. She'd even admitted to doing it purposefully, so he wondered if her sexual proclivities followed suit.

"Shall I punish you? You even asked for it earlier. I could give you a spanking..." he trailed off, watching her facial features. It appeared that he hadn't hit her sweet spot yet. "No, not a spanking for you... but maybe," he raised his brow as he looked at her, "maybe a different punishment." Bella licked her lips, anxious to hear what he would offer.

"Perhaps you'd like to watch me punish someone else." Her eyes fluttered closed, and he knew he'd gotten it right. "It's only Tuesday. How do you suggest we do this? I can make you wait until Friday and we can play before the kill...Good things come to those who wait." Edward stalked closer, his gaze slightly marauding, which was fine with Bella since she couldn't wait to be his prey.

"But maybe," he paused again and veered in the direction of his laptop. "Maybe we should test out my theory online first."

Bella squeezed her legs together and the pressure it created shot through her whole body.

"Ladies' choice?"

Bella shook her head, letting Edward know she wanted this decision to fall to him. He gave her a sideways glance, accepting the responsibility she offered. He sat down at the table in front of his laptop, his fingers instinctively knowing where to go given the parameters. It was a site he paid for and was rewarded with an extraordinary amount of privacy with the generous price tag. The videos were all legal and posted with consent, however, the subject matter wasn't for the faint of heart. Many scenes were filmed in the darkest dungeons across the world, where sexual depravity and degradation were alive and well.

"Come. Sit.I want you close for this. I want to smell you as your excitement rises." Bella responded immediately, not wanting to disappoint him.

His touch was feather light, just enough to balance her as he clicked on the video. She smiled to herself, seeing the couple on the screen. It was obvious that this scene would involve blood play given the instruments laid out on the stainless table centered on the screen.

Bella grabbed Edward's thigh, wanting him to steady her with his own resolute strength.


	36. Chapter 36

[NSFM warning]

_**-Pssst...**_

_where did everyone go?**-**_

* * *

As Edward's fingers slipped below the waistband of Bella's trousers, her focus on the screen in front of her wavered. Her eyes closed and her head fell back to his shoulder. It wasn't because of lack of interest in the scene before her, but the fact that she was on total overload. Given the choice, she wanted to savor the moment she'd waited for over the last year.

"What will I find when my fingers slide into your pussy, Bella? Will it be wet? Smooth, hot...?"

Bella hummed, attempting to buy herself a few seconds to respond coherently. His hand still rested just above her pubic bone, and she knew he was waiting for an answer.

"Groomed..." she breathed heavily, hoping he understood.

His hand moved down quickly, sweeping over her pubis and lips. "Good. I like that you are a woman, but glad I won't have to deal with hair in my teeth when I have a snack."

Bella licked her lips, thinking of Edward's tongue and mouth on her pussy, but then remembered she'd hadn't answered his other questions. "I'm hot and soo..." she exhaled and then breathed deep again, the movement making Edward's hand move a little lower. "I'm wet, so wet. When your fingers enter me, they'll be slick, absolutely coated."

Edward didn't waste a second after Bella's confession. His fingers parted her sensitive lips, his fingers instantly painted with her slippery secretions. "Tell me what you're thinking?" Edward commanded in a low growl in her ear.

"I'm thinking about your fingers pinching my clit and working in and out of me. Your touch is so perfect that I'll come quickly." Bella surprised herself with how easy it was to tell Edward her secret thoughts. She'd never felt this free with a man but couldn't imagine hiding her desires from him. Ever.

Bella's honesty was adored by Edward and his fingers delved deep inside her pussy, wanting to bring her to the edge of orgasm. Just as she began to push forward, a tell-tale sign that she was close to her climax, he withdrew. "Look at the screen. This is what you wanted to see, wasn't it? And look at you now, ignoring it so you can concentrate on your own pleasure—how disrespectful."

As soon as Bella opened her eyes and fixed them back on the screen, Edward's fingers resumed their massage. "As long as you are watching, I'll keep finger fucking you."

Two orgasms and fifteen minutes later, Bella slumped back against Edward. She'd been so busy concentrating on her own body that she'd failed to notice that Edward was unyieldingly hard against her ass. Her hand swept down and palmed his cock through his pants. "I want to touch this." She licked her lips again, her mouth somewhat dry after her orgasms, but thinking about Edward's cock made her mouth water anew. Her hands went to the button on his pants, his gaze never leaving her face. After his cock was released, Bella hesitantly placed her mouth over the tip, her lips over her teeth, and applied pressure. His hands went to her hair and tugged, at first slight, but then stronger to the point of a little discomfort. It made Bella moan around his cock, the sensation driving Edward closer.

After a few minutes, he finally spoke. "Make me come."

And because Bella never wanted to disappoint her man, she did just that.


	37. Chapter 37

Things had been tense since Bella and Edward's foray into sexual gratification. Both agreed they wanted their first time together to be after a kill. The thought excited Edward on a new level, as he'd never had sex with anyone after the kill—they were dead. He was looking forward to sharing his adrenaline high and fucking Bella's brains out.

The next few weeks were filled with hand jobs, blow jobs, finger fucks, and even a little... lip service. Edward had also commented on the fact that he liked Bella's pussy juice all over his face, saying he wanted to dine and dash at some point (eating Bella out then immediately setting a kill while she still glistened on his face). He wanted the woman he was killing to smell Bella on him and know he belonged to someone else.

She had confided she thought she would like to watch a live show of Edward inflicting pain on one of his victims before he strangled her, citing that she'd consider a threesome down the line. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to share the darkness with another woman, so let him know she wanted to keep that idea tempered for the moment; perhaps later when their relationship was less tenuous.

The delay in their advanced intimacy had come in Edward not being ready to share the hunt after their last argument. That seemed to be the only thing that struck a chord between them. Bella consistently picked brunettes for the slaughter. He didn't know if it was purposeful or something she did unconsciously. After the third week, when he finally felt he was back to full strength, he decided to breach the topic with her.

"Why do you pick women with brown hair?"

"What?"

"When we are hunting, you seem to choose women with variations of dark brown hair similar to yours. Why?"

The question kind of surprised Bella because she wondered why Edward always nixed the women she chose. But having him point out their hair color was similar to hers had clued her in.

"So you won't kill ones that remind you of me?" She arched a brow, challenging him to deny it. His lack of response was answer enough. "For how long?" Bella demanded.

"Awhile."

Since his confession, there'd been a shift in the balance of power. Bella understood Edward's hesitance in killing women who reminded him of her, which to most women may have been flattering, but Bella knew it was more. To her, it spoke of Edward's true devotion, and she wasn't about to shake that with something as inconsequential as hair color. The few hunts since their discussion had resulted in Bella choosing a couple redheads, and Edward even taking one of her suggestions. It was the hurdle they needed to overcome.

"I think this is the week. Will you come with me?" Of the women Edward had to pick from this week, he chose a party-girl whom no one would notice had gone missing and who wouldn't suspect something sinister when he suggested she come home with him and his girlfriend.

Bella was overcome with his invitation, as she'd waited what seemed like forever for this moment. "What changed your mind?" she wondered.

"It doesn't matter. What is important is that I want you with me—beside me—and I want you when we're done."

Finally, was the only intelligible word that came to Bella's mind.


	38. Chapter 38

[NSFM warning]

* * *

It was easy to lure Victoria back to Edward's apartment. He hadn't ever taken the time to ask their names, but Bella insisted on the personal touch. She said it helped her connect with them. "Women," Edward muttered with an eye roll at her request.

"So, Victoria, tell me about yourself," Bella began. Edward put a stop to the chit-chat right up front, however. "Don't make me regret this, dear." Bella knew she was on thin ice, so she didn't push things any further. It was later that she would divulge that lulling them into a false sense of security made it more exciting for her. Edward only commented that unnecessary talk led to trust, and trust led to women crying and pleading, two things he didn't want. If they were uneasy, then they seemed to go quietly.

"So how's this gonna work? You want to watch him fuck me while you watch, honey? Or do you want me to lick that pretty pussy you're hiding under your skirt?"

The Edward Bella knew and loved was suddenly front and center. He snapped his fingers, bringing both women's eyes toward him. "Don't speak unless spoken to. I will let her know..." Edward looked to Bella, a twinkle in his eye "...when I want her to do something. You don't get a say." Bella just smiled at Victoria to let her know that was how things would go. Edward was the master here, and they would obey.

"Bella, I'd like you to undress for Victoria. Show her how lovely you are." Edward stepped toward Bella, his hand brushing down her arm, then cupping her breast. "Show her how perfectly your tits bob and your nipples pucker." She slowly began to undress, leaving just her top bare. She knew Edward would give her a cue to shed her bottoms.

"See how perfect they are?" Edward looked at Victoria but refused to actually say her name. He waited a few seconds before he snapped. "Answer! I asked you a question."

Edwards tone had set Victoria on edge, but that was exactly where he wanted her. He preferred that she second-guess her presence here. He stood behind Bella and palmed both her breasts in his hands, tweaking her nipples, working them until they stood at attention. "See what happens when they have a false sense of security?" he whispered in her ear, so low that he was sure only Bella would hear.

"I'm sorry," Bella responded quietly. Lesson Learned.

Edward accepted her apology and moved forward with the evening. "Bella, show her the rest. Let's see if you affect her as much as you affect me."

She peeled down her panties and then skirt, in slow, smooth motions. She did so remembering she was doing this for Edward and not Victoria; the thought made her smile.

"Would you like to undress her?"

She wondered if this was something Edward would enjoy. Did he want to see Victoria naked? Did that mean that he asked all his victims to get naked? How would her body compare? Would he prefer waxed pussy lips instead of her neatly trimmed hair?

"Bella, I expect an answer." As if Edward knew her mind had wandered and she was suddenly unsure of herself, his hand slipped down between her legs.

"No," she moaned, relieved that Edward was touching her again. "Do you want me to undress her?" he asked. "Hmmnnn," she groaned, shaking her head no. It wasn't about Victoria, it was about Bella and Edward, and she saw no reason for the victim to be undressed. "I want to suck you while she watches."


	39. Chapter 39

With another snap of his fingers and a point to his feet, Edward commanded the redhead to his feet. He gave her instructions to watch Bella, and that she could finger herself while observing the two lovers. He warned her not to touch or take her eyes off of him or Bella.

As Victoria watched Bella take Edward in her mouth over and over again, the foreboding feeling from earlier was now replaced with pure lust. She couldn't help but close her eyes and lose herself in the moment. It was a moment Edward had counted on. His hand tightened in Bella's hair, slowing her movements to a stop. His cock fell from her lips as he turned Bella's head to look at her.

"I warned that you not take your eyes off us. You broke a rule, so you must be punished." Edward grabbed her and quickly placed his hand over her mouth so she couldn't scream. She tried, but the screeching sound was lost.

It was always the same—

Never deviated—

Clean—

Quick—

Rubber tubing, looped from the shower head. He would string them up, their breath fading quickly. Their faces would pale and then turn red and blue, then finally, the life would leave their eyes. Sometimes they would close, and other times remain open—depending on how hard they fought.

This time, though, it was different.

Not the same—

This time Bella watched… and it was more satisfying than he…or she… ever thought it could be.

"I'm excited to see you work. I'm sure that I made a real mess," Bella chided herself while Edward threw the limp body on the table. "It's a real shame though, her hair is beautiful. Maybe we could cut it all off and donate it to one of those 'Locks of Love' things. You know the wigs for kids with cancer." Bella knew it was a ridiculous notion, but she couldn't resist having a bit of fun with Edward. He just gave her a look of dismay letting her know they would not be donating a murder victim's hair. While Edward didn't believe she would seriously make such a careless suggestion, he felt it was his due diligence to point out the obvious anyway.

Bella stood back and watched as Edward prepared the area. He was methodical in his organization. She'd seen many a surgeon operate the same way. Each tool was aligned in the order it was used and then discarded into a large stainless bin. Nothing left his work table at any time, an impressive sight to see. The table itself had curved sides, a lip of sorts, and Bella instantly knew it was an autopsy table. The drainage channels and grated bottom allowed for any fluid to drain into a receptacle on the floor. It was an immaculate and systematic setup, but Bella wasn't the least bit surprised. She expected nothing more from Edward.

Edward continued to work, even enlisting Bella's help with the tools. He would make a request and she would fulfill, just as was meant to be, and neither of them could think of a better way to end an evening.

Well, almost no other way…


	40. Chapter 40

Edward placed the last piece in the plastic container, and Bella couldn't hold off any longer. Her arms slipped around his waist, then up to his chest, and she touched the strong man in front of her. As he made his final swipe of the cleaning solution with the rag, his other hand came up to rest on hers, stopping her movement.

"Now?" she asked, hoping he would understand the overly simplistic question.

"Here?" he asked, a hint of excitement in his voice. He thought through the scenario. All the disposable pieces were tucked safely in the tub for dumping, and he couldn't find harm in getting a little dirty in the workroom, at least not with Bella. Plus, he had promised this would be the night.

Edward was quick, his hands quickly delving into the back of Bella's shorts and panties. His hands grabbed at her ass cheeks and squeezed them, his adrenaline still coursing high. "I want to bite them," he whispered as he pulled her bottoms to the floor.

Bella was making her own haste as she began to undress Edward as well. She quickly palmed his cock through his briefs before he whipped her around. "Up," he commanded, "hands and knees," he finished as he lifted her effortlessly. Her ass was pale and perfect in his face and he couldn't help himself. His mouth went to her right buttock, his teeth nipping harshly. Bella moaned in response, the bite giving her the perfect amount of pleasure and pain.

"Have you dreamed about this?" he asked in between licks and love bites. His excitement was building to an insurmountable level as he looked at the red teeth marks now littering her skin. A strangled yes was all she could reply.

His hand joined his mouth as he gave her left buttock a few slaps. He wanted it to sting, but not leave a mark. "Do you want my mouth here," he asked as his nose lightly touched her pussy lips. He took a deep breath, then took a long, wet swipe with his tongue; she was excited and already leaking. A faint, "Oh God…" echoed through the storage room but was swiftly replaced by the squelching sound of skin on metal.

Bella's hand came down to touch her needy clit but was immediately chastised by Edward's swift hand. "Patience," he'd told her. After a couple minutes of torture, Edward acquiesced and moved her pliant body so he could sink himself deep inside when he was ready. It was the final act to connect with his mate, his soul, his other half, and while It hadn't occurred to either of them to discuss contraception previous to this moment, it was an unspoken rule. People like them didn't have children; they wouldn't be so careless as to pass on their unsavory lifestyle to offspring.

With no further fanfare, Edward took one final lick of Bella's pussy, then pulled her down so she could receive his cock. "Are you ready?" he asked as he wet his dick on her seeping pussy juice. There was a pause, as if he was waiting for her to answer, but it was too short for the heaving woman in front of him. The poor girl needed more than a mere moment to gather her wits—and breathe—to answer him. But he'd grown impatient. For weeks, he'd thought about how she would feel around him, the moist heat as he would glide inside her. Her tight little cunt would flinch and flutter as he pumped in and out.

His thoughts were interrupted by her screams and incoherent babbling. Then his rhythmic thrusts stuttered as his hand went to her mouth to silence her so as not to arouse suspicion. "Shhhh, my angel. You let me do all the talking." His hand remained over her mouth, and he used the added leverage to begin fucking her harder. Her hands were braced on the wall in front of her, carefully placed between two butcher knives that hung on the wall in their holder. Her legs dangled over the edge of the table, and he couldn't help but notice her lower half resembled a ragdoll being tossed about.

A squeal erupted from Bella's lips, and he was fearful he'd injured her. He looked up, without stopping, and noticed her cradling her hand. He moved his hand from her mouth and asked if she was okay. His thrusts became languid, never stopping, but easing his relentless pace.

"Ohhhwww." A half cry, half moan escaped Bella as she flung her hand behind her for Edward to see. It was then he saw red, literally. His thrusts stopped altogether as a new feeling ran through him.

"You're bleeding."

"Don't stop!"

He ignored her plea and pulled her off the table, and then turned her to face him. "You cut yourself." His eyes were glazed as he looked from her hand to her face.

"Yes."

"You have no idea what that does to me, Bella. To see life flowing from you, oozing down your palm to your wrist—I can smell it. I want to taste all of you… "

Edward stepped back and sat on the workman's chair in the corner. He pulled Bella to his lap and lifted her so she could slide over his cock once more. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the gash, then lapped at the blood still flowing from the fresh wound. Bella pulled her hand away, wanting to see the crimson stain on his lips. Her question was silent, but Edward knew what she wanted. He smashed his lips to her, sharing the liquid life he'd taken. She could taste the metallic on his tongue, but something else, too. It could have been a figment of her imagination, but she swore she could taste something more, something like love. She didn't know what love tasted like, exactly, or if it could even have a taste, but she knew this was it. This is what love tasted like to Bella, and it was sweeter than anything she'd ever had before.

"Love," came out as a murmur as Edward took his final pump into her. He stilled his movements with his hips only to continue his ministrations with his fingers. He was confident that Bella had already come once, but he wanted to feel her come again as her pulsing pussy milked the last vestiges of his release. With tiny circles and well-timed pressure, Bella exploded mere seconds later. She was rigid in his arms, her mind blanking and stars shooting inside her eyelids. She stopped breathing, holding her breath until the last surge of electricity sped through her body, and then collapsed, satisfied and sated into Edward's arms.

"Love."


	41. Epilogue

The Beginning of the End

They walk among us, the depraved and emotionally stunted, the vampires and werewolves. We like to believe that Grimm only wrote fairytales and not fact, that such monsters really don't exist. But as we watch the nightly news, we know evil subsists everywhere. It's part of our everyday lives…

In a utopian world, Edward and Bella would meet a terrible end where each death they committed would be met with retribution, and that such a story would have a tragic ending—which it does—but not for our hero and heroine. Only for the blondes, redheads, and raven haired beauties (but still never brunettes) .

Tragic is subjective, though, isn't it?

How is it possible, you may ask? Hundreds of women murdered, nary a suspicion raised. It's simple, really. CSI doesn't actually exist as it does on TV. There aren't BAU teams jetting across the country on private government jets, and people on the street generally look the other way. The human race has digressed, generally self-absorbed and unconcerned if there isn't immediate extrinsic reward. In a city of millions, a few hundred women gone missing is hardly eventful; a small price to pay for eternal happiness for one couple. Fifty-two weeks a year, sixty women— eight special occasion additions (birthdays, anniversary, Christmas…)—seems rather reasonable if you ask Mr. and Mrs. Cullen.

But when we see a snake eat a rat, a cat eat a mouse, we cringe with the unpleasant nature but shrug, because after all, they are just following true nature. Who are we to judge? It's the circle of life, the order of the food chain, and survival of the fittest. So why shouldn't the same notion apply to us, or does our civilized society omit the basic needs of the animal we call humans?

The Cullens live at the end of your street in that four bedroom, two-and-half bath tudor. They work in your office perhaps their children sit beside yours in school. They buy two kinds of milk (skim for her, and 2% for him and the kids), and like a scoop of vanilla ice cream on their cherry pie. They even argue when Bella puts Edward's knives in the dishwasher—he insists it dulls the blade, she says that's ridiculous.

Last Sunday (never Saturday, as he has a standing appointment) Edward painted the shutters, and Bella planted her newly acquired Asclepias curassavica, often called India root or swallow-wort, but she likes its more common name: Bloodflower. She saw them and knew immediately where she'd place them in her yard, finding no guilt in their purchase—Home Depot was having a sale.

Jurisprudence does not exist here, though, and there is no trial by a jury of their peers. The Cullens rest easy each evening, knowing their secret is safe. You will sleep soundly tonight with the notion that "The good end happily and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means," and Edward and Bella will live happily ever after.

* * *

**"The good end happily and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means," from "The Importance of being Earnest" by Oscar Wilde

* * *

End note:

When {Femme} Stephenie Cullen gave me the prompt of "an Edward that's not really what he seems," I don't think she realized what a mind fuck I was going to unleash upon her. If you haven't already, check out the banners she made here: tinyurl{.}com/obyvlmz, tinyurl{.}com/os8kyfx

:)

**Thanks** to those of you who reviewed every chapter and still had something thoughtful to say. Your support encourages writers to keep on keepin' on

;)

**Thanks** goes to Twi Marti for her edits. I trust her judgement, which enables me to write rather than worry about my P's and Q's, and actually deliver a timely product to you. Also thanks to Rob Smut Reader for her seriously insightful reviews,

and

**FINAL THANKS TO ALL THE READERS WHO READ TO THE END**. You had a little faith, and it worked out for you I'd say

: )

Until next time...

XO,

JR


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